


it's impossible to read that guy

by layersofsilence



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Alternate Universe - Brooklyn Nine-Nine (TV) Fusion, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Police, Brooklyn-99, Fluff, Humor, M/M, bucky barnes is a tall dark Enigma, this is the b99 au nobody asked for
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-18
Updated: 2018-01-18
Packaged: 2019-03-06 11:40:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,593
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13410495
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/layersofsilence/pseuds/layersofsilence
Summary: Barnes had been transferred into the precinct on an idyllic July afternoon when the sky was cloudless and the breeze was perfect, which Tony can remember because they'd been perfect conditions for plenty of time whiled away on the roof, possibly perfecting dubiously legal chemical mixtures.Tony had, only naturally, been curious. And he’d only grown more curious about the mysterious new arrival when he’d not brought over a single personal item for his desk (Scott, who was happily violating the ‘two items and two photographs’ rule by plastering the ceiling above his desk with pictures of his small and smiling daughter, maintained that this was unnatural and horrifying), and invariably responded with a flat negative when asked out for lunch, coffee, dinner, breakfast, tea, hot chocolate, cold chocolate, and, on one occasion, a sleepover.or: the brooklyn 99 inspired au that nobody really asked for





	it's impossible to read that guy

**Author's Note:**

> title is from brooklyn 99, because of course

It is a truth universally acknowledged, throughout the 107th precinct and beyond, that James Barnes is an ornery asshole. The reputation he’s built up in six short months of work is, frankly, rather impressive – Tony’s heard him described variously as “a terror,” “that goth guy,” (which, in Tony’s opinion, is an insult to all _actual_ goths, a population of which Tony was briefly a part in his middle school years, because Barnes is just an asshole) “the fifth circle of Hell,” (which, no, Barnes is clearly the _seventh_ circle of hell, _someone_ needs to read up on their Dante, _Scott_ ), “scarily competent,” which is also true if somewhat lacking in descriptive imagery, and “one of those silent angsty vampire werewolves from the YA novels kids are reading these days,” which is quite clearly the best and most realistic description, coined by Tony himself, even if it had made Wanda throw six erasers at him and tell him to shut up about things he knew nothing about. The joke was on her, because Tony had been completely out of erasers.

Anyway: Barnes had been transferred into the precinct on an idyllic July afternoon when the sky was cloudless and the breeze was perfect, which Tony can remember because they'd been perfect conditions for plenty of time whiled away on the roof, possibly perfecting dubiously legal chemical mixtures.

Tony had, only naturally, been curious. And he’d only grown more curious about the mysterious new arrival when he’d not brought over a single personal item for his desk (Scott, who was happily violating the ‘two items and two photographs’ rule by plastering the ceiling above his desk with pictures of his small and smiling daughter, maintained that this was unnatural and horrifying), and invariably responded with a flat negative when asked out for lunch, coffee, dinner, breakfast, tea, hot chocolate, cold chocolate, and, on one occasion, a sleepover. (Tony had, admittedly, not expected a positive response to that offer, but he was hoping for a refusal more personal than a glare.)

In any case, the whiteboard in the break room of the station had quickly been commandeered for the worthy cause of transcribing all known facts about Barnes. Tony had been heckled fairly mercilessly for simply flipping the board over to hide the writing on it, but Barnes barely ever left his desk, let alone used the break room, so Tony figures that his whiteboard titled THINGS WE ACTULLY KNOW ABOUT JB is relatively safe, for the moment. Genius sometimes manifests in simple ways.

Besides, it only has like, five items on it. If he ever was to go in and see it then Barnes is more likely to be amused than angered, even if the reason the board only has five items is because Tony refuses to stoop to the level of stating blatantly obvious facts like _brown hair_ or _muscles for days_ or _can do his job_. So, with this in mind, the board goes as follows:

Fact #1: Barnes has a frankly terrifying accuracy rate. Clint has added _(according to records)_ in green marker, since Maria and Fury had been the ones to sign his gun report as witnesses, and Fury is too terrifying to ask and Maria believes in archaic and annoying concepts like _privacy_. And, of course, upon being asked Barnes had simply responded with a glare as chilling as it was final, so that was that.

Fact #2: Barnes does not live in the address he put down on file; however, he probably lives in Brooklyn. The address on file is the penthouse of an abandoned and condemned apartment block due to be knocked down sometime next year. Upon debating whether someone should go and tell Fury this (Carol and Scott thought yes; Clint and Wanda thought no, Maria had been dignifiedly staying out of the conversation, and Tony had been undecided), Fury himself had walked into the break room and said that he was already well aware of the fact, “just as you all should be well aware that looking through the file of a fellow detective is highly unprofessional.” Which had not been conclusive at all.

He’d stalked off, and the five of them had, upon some further discussion unaided by any access to files or documents, come to a general consensus which was that Barnes almost certainly lived in Brooklyn, because there were probably rules about living in one borough and working in another. Probably. Tony had promised to research it, but somehow he’d never gotten around to actually doing it, so the fact on the board remained marred by probability.

The third fact had been discovered accidentally in the pursuit of an actual answer to Fact #2, but at that point it had been four months after Barnes’s arrival and it was a fact in its own right and Tony had been growing desperate, so it went up on the board.

Tony had, in his great and noble quest for the Truth, once attempted to follow Barnes, despite the relative shittiness of the action as deemed by his coworkers. Barnes hadn’t seemed the slightest bit fazed – his murder strut, as Wanda called it, was as murderous as ever, and he hadn’t looked back even once. Tony had been hopeful that he and Barnes could laugh about this, once they grew closer together and Barnes got over this minor breach of privacy.

That rose-hued train of thought had come to a screeching halt at the same moment that Tony realised that Barnes has been leading him around in a circle within the same five disgusting alleyways. Two minutes later, Tony lost Barnes. The total trip had only earned him a short (shamefully short, really, considering that he was supposed to be acquainted with these alleyways; but then, he was a police officer, not a spy) but stunningly repulsive tour of what were seemingly Brooklyn’s worst and most shady brick walls (which is a pun, since it had been evening and they’d all been shady), and a terrifying encounter the following morning from every cop’s worst nightmare.

When the elevator doors opened the next morning with their customary ding, Tony didn’t even bother looking up; Carol and Scott were the ones closest to the elevator and the most people-friendly to boot. But when the entire precinct had fallen silent and the distinct sound of Clint knocking his keyboard off his desk rang through the room, Tony did look up, and was promptly confronted by what was possibly the worst sight any New York police officer could be confronted by.

Natasha Romanoff was walking towards him.

Tony was not ashamed to admit that he let out a squeak at the sight, or that he tried to push away from his desk to go hide somewhere. Sadly, his wheely chair had had an unidentifiable substance stuck in its wheels for seven months, so he didn’t move in the slightest and his desk shook ominously. Some paperwork fell off the edge with a portentous thunking noise.

“Um,” he said, as Romanoff came closer. She was _stalking_. Tony had never taken books seriously when they’d said that people could stalk, but he believed it in that moment and it was terrifying. Then Romanoff sat down on his desk, and somehow that was even worse. “Hello?”

“Follow him again,” she said, casually examining her flawless nails, which were painted a particularly evocative shade of red that Tony could’ve sworn that he’d seen at crime sights, “and I’ll get myself assigned to all your cases.” It was possibly the worst threat anyone could have come up with; _no_ cop wanted Natasha Romanoff to be the defence attorney on their case.

“Uh,” Tony managed to get out.

“You’re going to wish you never disinherited yourself,” Romanoff said, in a voice that is alarmingly calm.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Tony finally managed weakly, lying through his teeth. Romanoff gave him a look like he was one of those cats who were only cute because they were so pathetic. Then she walked away, and Tony had never felt so many things at once, probably. The entire precinct watched Romanoff as she left, but while they all had sensible expressions of fear and intimidation on their faces (except Clint, who looked fucking besotted, because he was an idiot), Barnes had the audacity to look _fond_.

“That did not go well for you,” Clint said unnecessarily, voice hushed even though the lift doors had long closed behind Romanoff and had apparently arrived on the roof for some reason. Someone really needed to fix that display.

“That did not go well for me,” Tony agreed. It took a minute, but eventually he felt sufficiently recovered to whirl around and point accusingly at Barnes. “You!”

“Me,” Barnes said, deadpan. Tony was beginning to think that it was the only tone he knew how to talk in.

“You – you – you’re friends with _Natasha Romanoff_?” Tony sputtered. Barnes shrugged, because he was _infuriating_. “She’s the _enemy_ ,” Tony said. It was basically a wail, but he thought the situation allowed for some dramatics. “You’re _fraternising with the enemy_.”

“I like her,” Barnes said. “We have lunch together.”

“Stop,” Tony said, and this time it was a fully-fledged wail, complete with elongated vowel-sounds.

He pretended not to hear Clint’s whispered, “Can you introduce me?” and Barnes’s reply of, “She’d eat you alive,” because he had some self-preservation instinct and he physically _couldn’t_ hear those statements if he wanted to _live_ , so.

“I like that in a woman,” Clint said, because he was determined to kill Tony, and Tony slammed his hands over his eyes because now he has mental images he’s _never going to get out of his brain_.

“No,” Barnes said, and even if Clint did keep sulking for another hour or so before getting distracted by his next injury that had, thankfully, been the end of that conversation. Or so Tony thought, until three hours later when he went out for lunch and saw Romanoff and Barnes chatting over coffees. He wasn’t particularly subtle in his gaping at them, so they saw him too, and waved with uncanny synchronisation. They were both _smiling_. Tony swore that, in that moment, he had a myocardial infarction, or he would’ve if the pavement wasn’t such an unsanitary place to plant his face.

Nevertheless, this gave rise to #3: Barnes is somehow and for some reason, despite being a cop, friends with the foremost defence attorney in New York, Natasha Romanoff (written on the board as N.Romanoff, mostly because Tony couldn’t bring himself to write her actual first name. It’d felt weirdly disrespectful, somehow, and also like she was going to come in and disembowel him).

Fact #4 is one that the squad collectively almost wish that they didn’t know. Almost, because Barnes had still been an enigma five months into the job when the fact was discovered, and that was unacceptable.

Tony and Carol had taken Barnes with them on a fairly routine investigation and had just been proceeding to initiate a fairly routine arrest when the perp in question raced out the window and into the barely-there street behind the dilapidated motel he’d been holing up in.

“I know where it comes out,” Barnes had said immediately, as was to be expected, honestly. Tony was starting to think he lived on the streets.

“I’ll follow him, you two cut him off,” Tony said, and raced off without a second thought. His chase had led him perilously close to the mouth of the alley when he heard a gunshot and a surprised shout from a voice he didn’t recognise.

“Trevor Slattery, you’re under arrest for unlawful impersonation,” Carol said, voice strong. “You have the right to remain silent. Anything you say can and will be held against you…”

Tony tuned out the familiar words as he turned the corner to see Slattery on the ground, Carol having cuffed his hands together. Carol passed Slattery to Tony without another word and went to Barnes, who tried and failed to bat her away. Even all of Barnes’s general terrifying-ness couldn’t stop Carol’s mothering instinct, Tony noted with some satisfaction.

“What’s wrong?” he asked, dragging Slattery up from the ground.

“Nothing,” Barnes said, in the same moment that Carol burst out with an accusatory, “He’s been _shot_.” Who exactly she was accusing was unclear, since the words seemed to indicate Slattery – it was just too strange to think of Barnes doing something as human as getting injured – but her glare pointed to Barnes.

“Wait, what?” Tony blinked. Now that his attention had been drawn to the fact, there was definitely a spreading dark stain on Barnes’s vest.

“In the shoulder,” Barnes confirmed, fairly grudgingly.

“Shit, man, I’m sorry,” Slattery piped up from beside Tony. “I meant to shoot up.” They all glared at him, and he shrugged.

“We need to call an ambulance,” Carol said.

“Don’t bother,” Barnes replied, but even his stoicism faltered in the face of the fearsome Danvers glare, and he acquiesced slightly. “I’ll drive myself to the hospital.” Tony didn’t think it was much of an acquiescence, but baby steps, he supposed. Baby steps.

“ _I’ll_ drive you to the hospital,” Carol snapped, very firmly. “Tony can go back to the station.”

“Tony can indeed go back to the station,” Tony confirmed. “Tony’s great at getting to places.”

“Tony can stop talking about himself in third person,” Carol said, and bundled Barnes into the van, ignoring his protests about getting Slattery to the station before getting himself to the hospital.

Later, Carol and Tony had holed themselves up in the break room with what was probably an overly large amount of coffee in a desperate attempt to either drown themselves or absorb caffeine into their bloodstreams before they had to go back to the paperwork of the case. Fucking shootings, honestly. Tony was pretty sure a single bullet added about ten more forms to their workload.

“He didn’t even _flinch_ ,” Carol said, voice hushed. “I don’t even know if he _reacted_. I wouldn’t have known it hit him if the blood hadn’t been staining his uniform.”

“That’s fucked up,” Tony said, in a tone of the utmost glee. Gossip was his _favourite thing_. “That’s amazing. Do you think he’s on drugs? He’s probably the quietest stoner in history. I – wait! I can write this on the board!” The exclamation was a little too loud, which means the caffeine was finally getting to him.

“I can’t believe we’re only on the fourth fact,” Carol moaned as Tony writes a neat Fact #4 on the JB board.

“We’re working on it,” Tony said.

“We’ve been working with him for five months and we’re up to the fourth fact,” Carol said. “We’re the worst detectives.”

 _Has a stupid weird high pain tolerance_ , Tony wrote, and then added a bunch of question marks for aesthetic value.

~*~

So by the six-month anniversary (plus a week and three days, but who’s counting) of Barnes’s arrival at the 107th precinct, Tony has learned that first impressions were, in this case, correct, and that Barnes is the surly ornery asshole Tony had initially pegged him as, and that he has the most weirdly private life of anyone in the world, probably. 

It’s an utterly ordinary Friday at the precinct when everything changes. Barnes has “accidentally” crushed a printer, Tony has successfully caused not one but two (2) explosions out on the balcony, Clint has dropped his mug twelve times and tripped over on five separate occasions, Maria has utterly demolished the massive stack of paperwork that’d been on her desk in the morning, Scott has cheerfully eaten all the cupcakes he brought in to purportedly share with the precinct, and Wanda has been humming weird Hungarian folk music for three consecutive hours while she does whatever it is civilian administrators do. Captain Fury is in his office, watching everyone with a cold eye, singular. It is _utterly normal_.

Tony should have been expecting some kind of curveball to make up for it, but when one comes his way he doesn’t recognise it for what it is for a good ten seconds.

In his defence, the tiny blond guy who exits the lift does not look or act like a curveball. He’s got the brightest blue eyes Tony has ever seen and paint smeared over both arms, like he’d forgotten to or done a terrible job of washing them, which is slightly weird considering that his clothes are clean but probably means there’s a terribly stained apron out there somewhere. He looks ridiculously chipper for someone who looks like he’s just come off work at the end of the week. He is, in general, as cute as a button.

While he doesn’t quite like it, Tony can definitely handle people, and he’s pretty sure he’d be fine talking to this guy. The guy starts to become a curveball when he looks around the station like he’s looking for someone, spots Barnes, _smiles_ , and starts _walking towards him_.

“Dude,” Clint whispers from his position across Tony. “That’s not – no.” Tony is in absolute and complete agreement, and the guy just keeps walking, like he has a death wish.

“Hey, Buck,” he says cheerfully, and slings both arms around Barnes’s neck. Tony cringes with what is possibly the most intense secondhand embarrassment he’s ever experienced, because this guy is going to get _shut down_.

“Buck?” Clint asks, because he’s apparently slightly better at observation than Tony, who is preoccupied as all fuck.

“Hey, Stevie,” Barnes says and – and – tilts his head up for a kiss?

Tony’s never taken people seriously when they’d parroted dumb catchphrases at him, like, “Complacency gets you killed!” He needs to eat his words (derisive snorts?) now, because he thinks he’s legitimately about to have a heart attack, or an aneurysm, or both simultaneously.

“What the fuck,” Clint whispers, leaning over his desk at an angle that’s frankly kind of alarming. His whisper is absurdly loud, and any other time Tony would be taking him to task for it, but right now he’s just incredibly glad that someone else appreciates his pain and confusion.

With literally any other one of his colleagues, Tony would not be surprised at what has just happened. He’d probably be heckling them. As it is, he can only stare, mouth agape, as – as this guy called _Stevie_ kisses _Barnes_ like he’s happy to be doing it, like this is _normal_.

Scott is still distractedly eating his cupcakes, and for a moment Tony actually considers the idea that he’s entered the Twilight Zone and should probably just give up hope now. But Clint looks gobsmacked, and Maria and Wanda and Carol have all turned, with incredulity on their faces, to look at Barnes and – and his – his _boyfriend_ , so he is probably still in his own universe. He does not know whether this is a welcome revelation or not.

Words cannot express how profoundly Tony’s life has just changed.

“You going to introduce me or what?” the boyfriend says, having detached his face from Barnes’s face. Tony can’t quite grasp the fact that someone who wants to put their face on top of Barnes’s face even exists. 

“Steve, my precinct,” Barnes says, in his typical verbose fashion.

“Pleased to meet you,” Steve says pleasantly. Maria nods at him, because she’s the most put together out of everyone, and that sets off a small chain reaction so that everybody else also starts nodding. Even Scott, buried in icing and paperwork, starts to nod, as per the general trend of the room. Tony doesn’t think he even knows what he’s nodding about. Wanda adds a small wave to spice things up, but it kind of falls flat thanks to the shellshocked look on her face.

“What’re you doing here?” Barnes asks Steve, and if it was anyone else his tone would be accusatory. As it is, he sounds _gentle_. Almost _concerned_. He sounds _nothing like the James Barnes Tony knows_. “You okay?”

“Nope,” Steve says. “I’m desperately lonely. My boyfriend always works an hour of overtime, even on Fridays, and I’m stuck at home all by myself for the next three hours.” The face he makes is exaggeratedly sad, and he bats his eyelashes. Barnes actually _softens_.

“Your boyfriend sounds like a heel,” he drawls, like he doesn’t know he’s got every eye in the room on him. “Wanna ditch him and come home with me?”

“Mm,” Steve agrees, and steals another kiss before turning Barnes’s wheely chair back so that it faces the computer. “Finish that off and let me steal you away.”

“You realise I get paid for this overtime,” Barnes says as he starts typing again. “I get paid well, even.”

“And let me just steal you away for a sec there,” Wanda murmurs before Steve can reply, tiptoeing exaggeratedly across the room and, bless her, she grabs short-blond-cute-Steve’s arm and pulls him away from Barnes’s desk.

“What?” Steve asks confusedly as all the detectives in the precinct come to crowd around him. Even Scott, having carefully covered his cupcakes, comes over to join the group.

“What the _fuck_ ,” Clint hisses, which is exactly what Tony is thinking, if phrased more crudely.

“What Clint means,” Carol says, “is, how are you in a relationship with Barnes?”

“Fairly easily,” Steve says, folding his arms.

“How long?” Wanda asks.

“Like…fifteen years,” says Steve, who looks way too young to have been in a relationship of that length. Before Tony can do anything more than open his mouth to object, a pen hits Steve on the side of the head.

“Proposals when we were twelve don’t count, Stevie,” Barnes says, in the manner of a man who has had this argument many a time.

“Proposals when we were twelve absolutely count, are you saying that swing set officiated our wedding for nothing –”

“That’s _not how officiants work_ ,” Bucky says, but there’s a smile on his face as he says it, and it’s official, Tony’s life is the weirdest thing ever. “It’s been nine years.”

“Best fifteen years of my life,” Steve says, his smile distinctly schmoopy.

“Okay, but how,” Tony hisses. “How do you put up with him?”

“I don’t _put up with him_ ,” Steve says, going slightly defensive. “He’s the best guy I know.”

“But he never tells anyone anything,” Wanda protests.

“He’s _fucking terrifying_ ,” Clint says, much more bluntly.

“Take it down a notch, guys,” Maria says, because she’s a damn spoilsport. Tony is great at reading facial cues and Steve smiling at Clint’s question is one of the most obvious he can think of for ‘it’s fine, keep asking me things’.

“Has he ever killed anyone?” Tony asks. “I have a bet.” Carol, who the bet is with, punches his arm viciously. 

“And I think that’s my cue to leave,” Bucky says, breaking up the gaggle by swooping in like a dark and wingless bird and ushering his hapless boyfriend away. The analogy would work much better, Tony can’t help but think resentfully, if Steve didn’t look like he was perfectly happy with this turn of events. “Bye, guys.”

“Nice to meet you,” Steve says pleasantly as Bucky escorts him away, leaving a group of thoroughly shocked police officers and one civilian administrator in his wake.

“That was so surreal,” Wanda whispers.

“Barnes has a boyfriend. And a personality?” Tony asks. “I don’t know which one I’m more confused about.”

“His boyfriend is so cute,” Scott contributes, and everyone, even Maria who usually keeps out of the office gossip, nods at this.

“Smol,” Wanda agrees.

“Opposites attract, I guess,” Carol says.

“We need to put this down on the board,” Tony says. “Fifth fact, here we come.”

“Oh no,” Carol groans. “This is going to raise more questions than answers.”

Carol is, in typical Carol fashion, extremely correct. No sooner does Tony have _#5 – Has a cute small boyfriend who is his opposite in every way_ written on the board than Clint immediately writes _how??? wtf_ , which is slightly rude, Maria writes _named Steve_ because she is both polite and attentive to detail. Scott chews on something and nods. Wanda adds _primary school sweethearts??_ and takes a step back while the rest of the squad frown at the words.

“That is a descriptor that I literally never thought I’d use to describe Barnes,” Tony says. “Like, it never even crossed my mind as an _option_. Fucking fuck.”

~*~

The next time they see Steve is about two weeks later. During this time Tony has sadly not managed to uncover another fact about Barnes, so the arrival of one Steve something someone (Barnes had refused to disclose his last or even middle name) at the precinct got Tony to perk right up. Then he sits back down twice as hard, because – are those handcuffs? Is that _blood_ down his shirt? This is so at odds with the image of Steve something someone that Tony has developed in his head – small, gentle, and probably a painter, who tamed Barnes by sheer virtue of getting to him young and being generally too sweet to resist – that he can only sit and gape as the small, bloodstained, bristling guy being escorted into a holding cell.

“Is that Steve?” Tony asks Clint, and pokes him with a pen.

“Ow, fuck you,” Clint says halfheartedly, and squints. “I think so. Woah. Woah, is he – arrested? Have I had too much coffee?”

“I would start being really concerned if coffee has started to make you hallucinate handcuffs on people,” Tony says. “I’m concerned you thought that was even an option.”

“So he is arrested,” Clint says triumphantly, like this deduction is an achievement.

“The term is ‘under arrest’, you know,” Tony says.

“Barnes, I think your boyfriend’s been arrested,” Clint calls over to Barnes, who just nods.

“I know,” he says. He hasn’t looked up once from his paperwork since Steve has entered the room.

“You _know_?” Clint repeats.

“This is a common occurrence,” Barnes says, slightly louder than normal, still looking down at his paperwork. In the holding cell, Steve starts to giggle. It is far more adorable than it should be, considering he has blood all down his front and it’s almost definitely not his own.

“How common?” Carol asks, from her side of the room, and finally Barnes looks up and at Steve in the holding cell with a look that might be described as fond.

“Let’s just say I’m honestly surprised you guys haven’t met him sooner,” he says.

“You love me,” Steve calls out, leaning his head against the bars.

“That’s not the point right now,” Barnes calls back, which is honestly the sappiest thing Tony’s ever heard anyone say, ever, probably. Or maybe that’s just Barnes being infuriatingly inconsistent, personality-wise.

“Sorry, why are you arrested, again?” Tony asks, before realising that the term is ‘under arrest’ and that Clint has managed to fucking corrupt him. “Fuck.”

“There was a guy,” Steve starts, and Barnes snorts.

“Isn’t there always,” he mutters at his desk.

“No, Buck, you’ll like this one, I promise,” Steve says. “Don’t you remember that guy who was mayor when we were kids and cut all the funding to the local libraries?”

“Sure,” Barnes says. “He’s in Congress now, cutting all the funding to the local Planned Parenthoods.” Which, Barnes apparently keeps up with topical news. And has opinions on them, judging by his tone. Tony is baffled.

“Well, I saw him on the street and told him I wanted to shake his hand. And then I headbutted the fuck out of his nose,” Steve announces, inordinately proud.

“Is that blood all his,” Barnes manages to ask and say at the same time, tone utterly flat even if there’s a slight smile curling up at the corners of his mouth.

“Yep,” Steve says, popping the P. He really is turning out to be far more bloodthirsty than Tony realised.

“When I said ‘let’s meet after work for dinner in town’,” Barnes says, “this isn’t what I meant, Jesus.”

“I think I just about broke that oversized beak he calls a nose,” Steve says proudly.

“You should not be telling that to a bunch of police officers,” Maria says immediately, but even she looks amused.

“Well, Natasha was with me, and she made sure he wasn’t going to press charges,” Steve says. Everyone eyeballs him a little carefully, at that, because that makes it sound a lot like he’s just been party to a murder, but – surely he’s not dumb enough to have announced that to an entire precinct of police officers. Also this Natasha would probably be under arrest alongside Steve, if that were the case. Unless, Tony realises with a sense of growing horror, the Natasha was Natasha Romanoff, in which case she and Steve could probably get away with murdering the President.

“How much is the bail this time,” Barnes says on a sigh.

“I’ll pay it back,” Steve promises. “Three hundred.”

“Fucking pay it back, like we don’t share the same goddamn bank account,” Tony hears Barnes grumble. “You can just stay there til I finish my fuckin’ shift.”

“Alright, Buck,” Steve says peacefully, and closes his eyes. Barnes glares balefully at his boyfriend, but eventually goes back to work, which seems to be the cue for Steve to open his eyes again and watch Barnes lovingly. This is a horrifyingly confusing sight, given that the high-school affections being exchanged are between one bloodstained fighty human and another seventh-circle-of-hell incredibly intimidating human.

At the end of his shift, Barnes goes through his surroundings for money. Tony can only watch with increasing shock as Barnes produces fifty from his wallet, a hundred from his bag, two twenties from the third drawer down on his desk, two twenties and two tens from his shoe, and a fifty from under his desk. Tony really needs to start paying more attention to what Barnes does while he’s at his desk, apparently.

“Nice to meet you again,” Steve calls, as Barnes hustles him out, and leaves the rest of the precinct to stare at each other in shock.

“I think I’m starting to see why they like each other so much,” Wanda ventures, and everyone nods. Tony gets it, now.

“Opposites don’t attract, apparently,” Carol says. “Not in this case.” Tony adds this to fact #5 on the board: _smol boyfriend is a fighty fightperson, very suitable_. Not eloquent, but the best Tony can do, considering the semi-permanent state of shock he’s been living in.

~*~

The third time Tony sees Steve and Barnes, it’s not in a work setting. It’s worth pointing out that during this time he has discovered a sixth and seventh fact about Barnes, which are that, six, he’s on absurdly friendly terms with their medical examiner:

“Bruce!” Tony had squawked, upon being forced to wait until Barnes finishes chatting, gives Bruce a friendly nod, and leaves. “You _know_ him?” That had felt absurdly like betrayal. Bruce was _his_ science friend, damnit.

“Hello, Tony,” Bruce said calmly, like he hadn’t just overturned Tony’s already unstable world. “Leave Bucky alone.”

“ _Bucky_?” Tony sputtered. He hadn’t even glanced at the cadaver since he’d come in, that’s how distracted he was.

“To his friends,” Bruce said. “And as his friend, I’m telling you to lay off. You know he did long-term undercover work.”

“I did not know that,” Tony said, which was Fact #7. That was three facts in about two weeks. Two of those in an hour, even. The other four facts had been discovered over a period of six months. He was being absurdly productive. “He what?”

“Far out,” Bruce muttered, which was the quaintest not-swear Tony had ever heard. “Well, he’ll understand. He did long-term undercover work and now he’s a bit shit about opening up again. And you and your weird whiteboard are _not helping_.”

“Well fuck,” Tony had said, and nearly forgotten to collect the autopsy he’d come down for in his haste to get back to the office.

Fact #7 had been greeted by a lot of discomfited muttering and a silent but general agreement to stop trying to get personal details out of Barnes. Tony’s not sure what Barnes thinks of this – he’s not dumb enough to think that Barnes hasn’t noticed, but he hasn’t acted particularly different, either. Tony is decidedly not used to the concept of giving someone time, but he’s trying. Wanda and her scary heels are helping to keep him in check.

So the third time Tony sees Steve something someone (Barnes still hasn’t given them a name) he actually has the self-restraint to stay on his side of the road and not immediately go over and start pestering the couple with questions. This is partly because his toes already ache from the stomping Wanda will give them if she hears about him bothering Barnes, but it turns out to be an excellent decision, because he then gets to witness Steve shout with his whole body at someone and attempt to smack them when they sneer, at which point Barnes steps forward and scares them off before Steve can do anything that will get him arrested again.

Steve scowls up at Barnes, who honest-to-god grins, a wide and happy affair that Tony doesn’t think he’s seen the likes of in the precinct. Steve, apparently having forgiven Barnes his interfering, loops their arms together and leans up for a kiss as they walk away from where Tony’s standing, possibly having a seizure, no big deal.

**Author's Note:**

> i am but a lazy australian who does not know much about america's local politicians or congressmen, but i can tell you with absolute glee that the headbutting thing is based on a real incident from over here, when [tasmanian dj astro labe, self-described anarchist with incredible facial hair, headbutted our terrible former prime minister](http://www.smh.com.au/federal-politics/political-news/tasmanian-dj-astro-labe-admits-to-headbutting-tony-abbott-20180118-h0k5nw.html).
> 
> follow me on [my tumblr](https://layersofsilences.tumblr.com), if the link doesn't scare you away first :')


End file.
